


we'll sing a song of days gone by

by Jackie_Kelly



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Archie Andrews Needs a Hug, Archie goes to therapy, Archie probably has PTSD, Bisexual Archie Andrews, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 03:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Kelly/pseuds/Jackie_Kelly
Summary: Archie didn’t like the city. New York and its constant motion and noise were worlds different from the peaceful quiet that was Riverdale.or:Archie moves to New York and finally gets the therapy he needed in season 1.





	we'll sing a song of days gone by

Archie didn’t like the city. New York and its constant motion and noise were worlds different from the peaceful quiet that was Riverdale. Not that Riverdale hadn’t possessed its own kind of chaos. Riverdale chaos was just a lot different. Nights were still quiet and lights were still turned off when darkness fell. Even in the midst of the Black Hood fiasco and being hunted by Hiram Lodge, Archie’s bedroom in the middle of the “Town with PEP” had felt safe. There came a point though, after Veronica and Reggie got together, after being mauled by a bear, after being in jail for a murder that he didn’t commit, that Archie became too old for things like safety. He had grown up, and he needed to decide who he was.

Archie jumped awake to the sound of his roommate’s alarm.  He rolled over to see a blinking red 6:00. Groaning, he rolled back over and pulled his pillow over his head.  His roommate, Jack Jacobs, had been a godsend since Archie’s decision to go to the city. Signing a lease on an apartment before having a job, or a plan, had been one of his poorer decisions.  That was saying a lot, since he had decided to help a mob boss his sophomore year of highschool. He had found Jack online, and they had quickly become roommates to cover the cost.

“Archie,” Jack yelled cheerfully, his thick New York accent harshening his vowels, “Hahah, get up, when you get up you gotta get up!”  Archie pulled the pillow tighter over his head and groaned. “C’mon Arch, I’m not gonna leave ‘til I know you’re going to your therapist today. I got David to agree to meet me for breakfast this mornin’, and I’ll blame you if I’m late.”  Jack gave Archie one last long look and sauntered over to the bathroom.

That really gave Archie no choice but to get up.  Jack had been trying to get David to agree to have breakfast with him ever since they had moved in, and Archie would not take away another person’s chance at love, even if he didn’t have a chance himself.  Veronica and Reggie were happily married—and he was happy for them, really. Archie had even heard from his dad on one of the few times he let Fred mention Riverdale that Betty was engaged to a guy she met in college.  He didn’t know about Jughead, and for some reason that was okay with Archie—he didn’t really want to hear that Jughead was dating, or married, or had six sassy sarcastic children.

🂫 🂫 🂫

Archie officially hated waiting rooms.  They were too clean, too bright, and too happy.   It was awful. To top off the excessiveness of the room were excessively hard chairs.  Archie was not feeling _calm_ with his ass being pinched by his chair.  

After what felt like hours, a young blonde woman walked out and called his name.  For the first time since he let Jack convince him to call the therapist’s office—and he only hung up once, thank you very much—Archie was nervous.  The lady looked nice enough, and she didn’t know him. If all else failed, Archie never had to come back.

All at once, he felt like a coward.  

He had faced down a serial killer, a mob boss, and a bear—he could face a therapy session.

He could do this.  

Archie faced the walk back to the office with slowly growing dread.  He felt like he was once again marching to his death (honestly you can just pick a time).  The therapist seemed to sense his anxiety and chose not to say anything until they were in the office and Archie had settled into the chair.  

“So, Archie, I see you’re a football fan,” the therapist said.  When Archie just looked at her confused, she continued, “Your shirt—it’s a Green Bay Packers’ shirt.”  Archie glanced down and saw that yes, he was wearing a Packers shirt. His dad had given it to him, saying something about how they were NFL champions the year he was born or something.  Those were better times, and Archie had trouble remembering the good times anymore.

Not knowing quite what to say, Archie finally came up with, “Yeah. I like football.  I played in high school.”

“That’s fun, my son loves football.  I’m not looking forward to him playing, though—I like my son concussion-free.”  

In spite of himself, Archie chuckled a little.  If only the risk of getting a concussion had been his only problem in high school, he might not be so messed up now.  

“So, Archie, my name is Janie, and I would like you to tell me what you are hoping to get out of any sessions you have with me,” Janie said.  

“What I want to get out of this,” Archie started, “is to no longer be so messed up.”

“Define ‘messed up,’ if you would, Archie.”

“I have—nightmares. Every night. I can’t relate to people, and I feel anxious all the time, and I just _know_ , _I know_ , that there’s something wrong with me,” Archie finally hissed out after a breath.  

“Why do you think this, Archie?  Are there any specific events that you think could have led to these nightmares you would like to tell me about?”  Janie asked, and she looked like she actually wanted to hear what he had to say. And Archie had kept this bottled up for _so_ _long_.  Suddenly, Archie found himself telling her everything.  He told her about Miss Grundy, he told her about his music, about betraying his best friend because of a manipulative asshole who he thought would help him with the Black Hood.  He told her about trying to protect his father, about being buried alive. He told her about jail, about fighting for his life. He told her about running, about the bear.

The whole story came out as word-vomit, and there is no way it was in order or made any sense.  He was pretty sure she got the gist, though, when she gently asked, “Did you ever receive therapy, or did anybody ever encourage you to seek therapy before?”  

“Jughead thought I should go and try to get help.  He also was willing to listen to me when it got to be too much.  But Jughead had his own problems, leading a gang and everything. I just really didn’t want to burden him, or make him think I was weak when he had worse problems.  I couldn’t see Jughead look down on me too, you know? I didn’t even tell him I was moving. I didn’t want him to know, I couldn’t watch him move on while I was still stuck in the past,”  Archie said. He felt like he had finally gotten everything off of his chest.

“Sounds like this Jughead’s opinion is very important to you,” Janie said cautiously.  

“Yeah, Jack says the same thing.  He always says I’m alot like him with David at the beginning, always wanting his approval over everyone else,” Archie said, “David was Jack’s boyfriend before he moved to New Mexico.”  

“Well, it sounds like we have a lot to talk about.  I think once a week appointments for a while. Does this time and day work for you?” Janie asked.  

“Yeah.  Thank you.  I’ve never really gotten the chance to get that off my chest before.  I already feel better,” Archie breathed out.

“Alright, I’ll see you next week then,” Janie said as Archie stood up to leave, “I would encourage you to try to reconnect with some people from Riverdale.  It sounds like Jughead might be a good place to start. Sounds like from what you told me that he’s pretty good at being there for you.”

🂫 🂫 🂫

Archie walked home, soaking in the city.  He could see now why people chose to come here.  He felt lighter than he had in years. With his hometown at the forefront of his mind, Archie decided to buy a newspaper.  Quickly glancing through the stories while walking a story caught his eye, “Systemic Corruption in the System”. It wasn’t the title that caught his eye, though: he _really_ hated politics.  No, it was the _name_ that caught his eye—Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.  Maybe Janie was right, maybe it _was_ time to reconnect with his hometown.  Plus, if Jughead was writing for a New York paper now, maybe they could move forward together.  

Quiet was overrated, anyway.  

He bet both of them could get used to a small life in a big city.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> my roommate not wanting to be the only fic writer + not wanting to do homework = this?


End file.
